


good morning

by backdoor (symmetrophobic)



Series: hero's soup [3]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Gen, M/M, in which one is lost and the other can only light the way back home, the woochan accompaniment piece hinted at from ten years ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 10:26:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20965016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/backdoor
Summary: The Healer is watching him with a soft, amused look that makes Chan’s heart do all sorts of acrobatics in his chest.“Why are you here, Chan?” he asks quietly.





	good morning

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the woochan side story to surrender as promised circa 300 years ago
> 
> for those wondering what on earth a surrender is, it would be Informative to read the first story in the series first! if yall are just here for a quick woochan fix though, here's a Quick Rundown: this is set in a universe where superheroes with secret identities are created by the government to protect the country, and a research accident caused a percentage of the children born in 2000 to receive Enhancements (or superpowers) as well!! 
> 
> but all that matters now is woochan making lovey dovey eyes at each other uwu thank you and enjoy!

“Good morning.”

Chan springs up, unsticking his face from his notes in the process, before trying to sponge drool away with his sleeve as discreetly as possible. “Hnnghmorning.”

Woojin laughs as he rounds the cool metallic desk in the middle of the spacious office, dedicated to the research efforts of the Defenders. Chan tries to clear some of the papers and files sprawled out over the surface of the table, hurriedly swiping the touchscreen hovering in front of him so the sensitive documents are blurred.

“Decaffeinated,” the Healer sets down a tall cup of something that radiates warmth and happiness and everything good in this world on one of the small cleared zones on the table, then a muffin in a paper bag. “Wholegrain.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re mocking me?” Chan says, pausing halfway to tear open the bag and take a ginormous bite out of the muffin (it’s got blueberries, bless Woojin’s soul) and chug a quarter of the cup of coffee.

“Oh _Chan_,” Woojin shakes his head like he’s talking to a child. “That wasn’t mocking you, _this_ is. There are these things that people normally use to sleep on, you know? They’re called beds,” he grabs the bin from under the table, trashing some of the sandwich wrappers and empty juice bottles. “You might’ve heard of them before.”

“Really? Impossible,” Chan takes another bite of his muffin, feeling at least vaguely human now. “I’ll have to have one installed here.”

“Please don’t, you’ll never leave, then,” Woojin groans. “How long have you been here?”

“Last night.”

“Chan. I checked the logs. You’ve been in here for two days.”

“Why’d you ask, then?” Chan grumbles through his muffin, embarrassed that he’d been caught.

There’s a pause. Then, a pair of warm hands settle themselves on his shoulders, then, long fingers gently running through his hair in a way that makes him feel so good, it should probably be illegal.

Then,_ oh no_, Chan’s last operational brain cell panics. _I haven’t washed my hair in two days._

He grabs Woojin’s hands and brings them down to his shoulders, face burning. “I’m gross, don’t touch me.”

The Healer is watching him with a soft, amused look that makes Chan’s heart do all sorts of acrobatics in his chest. His other hand drifts down around Chan’s shoulder, coming to rest right over his heart, so close, he can probably _feel_ it pounding through the layers of muscle and bone that separate them.

“Why are you here, Chan?” he asks quietly.

Chan feels his mouth go dry. There’s a whole bunch of answers he actually has prepared for moments like these, some confident barb about _I was born I guess, what about you?_, but he’s always been awful at lying, even more to someone like Woojin.

“Work,” he mumbles eventually, gesturing to the mess of papers in front of him, and the screen, still buzzing with movement. He’s just _vaguely_ aware of Woojin studying the wide touchscreen projected above him, the headlines like _MILLENNIAL THREAT: RE-INSTITUTIONALISATION ON THE TABLE? _and _MSR DENIES ILLEGAL RESEARCH ACCUSATIONS _floating idly across the screen.

“Time for a breather and some proper sleep, don’t you think?”

Chan lets out an empty chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll just finish this report first.”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Woojin reminds him. “And it wasn’t built alone. Where are Changbin and Jisung?”

“They’ve got school stuff. And Changbin’s been busy with the new kid,” Chan waves it away. “You know, the one-…”

“_Chan_,” Woojin walks around the chair to lean against the desk, hands tracing up the lines of the Defender’s jaw to rest against his cheek. His dark eyes are serious and gentle. “Let them help you. Let us help you.”

For a moment, Chan can’t help but lose himself in how _nice_ this feels, how lovely it feels to just be alone with Woojin in this moment, and almost automatically, he lets down his guard, façade fading off his face, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“I’m scared,” he confesses, in a tiny voice that he’s not even sure he can hear himself. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Just like everyone else,” the Healer shrugs.

“I just – I don’t feel like I’m qualified to do this. Any of this,” Chan gestures to the mess in front of him, unable to stop the waterfall now that the dam’s been broken. “I’m not qualified to lead a Unit, I’m not like conscientious like JB, or a genius like Seungyoon, or a star like Taeyong. I can’t – I can’t even go to sleep sometimes, because I keep thinking about what Jisung’s going through right now and how I can’t stop any of it, or how Changbin feels about Felix and where that’s going to lead him. I just-…” he laughs brokenly. “I don’t think they picked the right guy to do this job, you know?”

Woojin sinks into the seat beside him. The look on his face is contemplative, rather than pitying or condescending, like Chan had expected. “Is this the first time you’ve ever told someone about this?”

The look on Chan’s face probably gives it away, because the other man chuckles. “Chan. You treat this job and everyone you meet here with the highest level of respect. You care about Jisung and Changbin like they’re your family, even when you don’t agree on the same things. You lose sleep and forget to eat for _days_, not just for the Millennials, but for every other case SKZ has been assigned – people you don’t even know, who don’t know you either, and never will. You’re not just the best person to do the job,” he shakes his head with a small smile. “You’re the _only_ person who can. That’s why they chose you.”

Warmth is prickling at the corners of Chan’s eyes, and his breath hitches embarrassingly as he averts his gaze. “How do you sound so sure about that?”

“_Everyone_ knows it, Chan,” Woojin cradles the back of his head, drawing him in for a hug, and Chan buries his face in the warmth of the other man’s sky blue and white cotton uniform, feeling the tension seep out of him like magic.

The Defender inhales shakily, feeling assurance permeate him with every breath, like a castaway finding solid land in the middle of a raging ocean. It’s possible to feel safe here, in the little protective bubble Woojin casts whenever he’s nearby.

“Thank you,” Chan mumbles into the fabric, hoping it’s muffled enough. Woojin’s shoulders shake with laughter, though, signalling that he’d understood.

“Chan, I-…”

Then the door beeps, red light flashing green.

Chan pushes himself upright in a panic as the door slides open, and Jaehyun walks through, pausing only for a split second when he sees the two of them.

“Oh, hey,” the leader forces some semblance of normalcy into his voice, puttering through the papers on his desk, face burning with embarrassment as Woojin greets Jaehyun politely. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey Woojin, hey Chan. Left some stuff here from my research for Taeyong yesterday,” Jaehyun raises a thumbdrive, seemingly holding back a smile as he walks over, while Woojin gathers the trash from the table, heading off to throw it in the bin. The other Defender has the decency to wait until the Healer’s out of earshot before leaning against Chan’s desk, lowering his voice to a smug murmur. “_So_, you and Woojin, huh.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chan mumbles, ears turning red as he straightens his papers out, gathering them messily into a file.

“That bad?” Jaehyun raises a brow, grinning. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Taeyong, he’s got enough on his plate as it is.”

“He was just helping me out with the Millennial case,” Chan insists, burning with embarrassment. “_Stop_ laughing.”

“Yeah, sure, Chan,” Jaehyun says leisurely, pushing off from the desk and heading off, not without doing a cheeky salute, lips crooking upwards in a smirk. “Don’t let me disturb your brainstorming session anymore, then. Looked like you guys were getting pretty _productive_.”

The door slides shut behind him, just as Woojin returns, dusting his hands and raising a brow. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Chan groans, shutting the computer down. “I’m going to go get a shower.”

“Good choice,” Woojin grins, falling in step beside Chan as they walk out of the room. “The cookhouse has kimchi _pajeon_ today, if you wanna grab lunch together later?”

Chan inhales as they leave the room, the _yes please_ rising up and dying in his throat, but then he thinks about the rest, thinks about this job and the expectations tied to it, and presses his lips shut, swallowing. “I gotta get back to work, sorry. Thanks for offering, though.”

The Healer just smiles, though, like he understands everything. For a moment, Chan considers the terrifying prospect of living in a world without this, without someone who always knows what he needs, who always knows what he means, even if he can’t say it.

Home is more than just a place, Chan realises. Home is stability – it’s something that’ll always be there, a safe zone in a war-torn battleground, a place where you keep all the things that keep you who you are.

For Chan, home was Woojin.

“Sure,” the older man says quietly, once they reach Chan’s dorm, the compact, spartan room he shares with Jisung and Changbin while he’s here. “I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” Chan replies, hoping Woojin knows how much he means it. How much he wants to say more, but can’t. “See you around.”

He walks into the room, closing the door behind him and listening to the sound of footsteps fading.

Then he sighs, coming to a halt by the bunk bed and letting his head thud lightly against the iron frame. _I’m so screwed._

There’s a reason why they tell them not to get attached. To always stay impersonal, always polite, to be what they were designed to be – Defenders, and nothing more.

_Your gifts were given to you. You were made to follow orders. You were made to protect. You are soldiers._

But Woojin always made them feel like something more.

Their unit’s radio beeps, then, and Changbin’s voice comes in. “_Chan-hyung? Are you there?”_

Chan hesitates for a moment, feeling an overwhelming exhaustion overtake him. He’s not sure if he can even face the thoughts in his own head right now, let alone someone else.

“_I told you he was still at the dry lab,”_ Jisung’s voice comes in then, a little more distant. “_C’mon, let’s go find him.”_

Chan’s about to let them go, when the echoes of what Woojin’d said repeat themselves in his mind. Sighing, he presses the receive button on the communal communicator. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“_Oh!_” Changbin sounds surprised. “_Hyung, did you go back last night? We didn’t see you, so-…_”

“Nah, I stayed over at the dry lab,” Chan rubs the back of his neck, willing himself to calm down enough to do this properly. “Hey, can you guys meet me there in about two hours? I just want to run a couple things by you guys and relay some updates.”

There’s a pause, and Chan can literally see Jisung and Changbin looking at each other, mystified. “_Yeah, of course, hyung!”_ The younger boy hesitates. “_You know, we could like, help out too? If you wanted us to?”_

Chan gnaws on his lower lip, feeling his throat clench from anxiety. _You don’t have to,_ is what he wants to say._ You don’t have to work for a cause that’s just going to end up hurting people you love._

“That’d be great,” is what he says instead, feeling a residual warmth in him, reminiscent of a smile like sunshine. “See you guys soon.”

_“Okay hyung, we’ll be there._”

Chan ends the transmission, shuffling into the shower on autopilot and then collapsing into a dead sleep for the next hour or so. He has a couple of nightmares he’s familiar with now – being too late to stop a disaster, having to watch Jisung or Changbin die in combat, or, more rarely now, having his identity exposed and watching his family suffer for it.

But now, he drifts off immediately, and dreams of warm tea and blueberries.

**Author's Note:**

> yes so this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and i thought i'd polish it up and finally post it :""") thank you to everyone who still remembers surrender (and who commented on the most recent chapter! you guys are the mvps hehe thank you for the encouragement) hope you enjoyed this little side story! working on the next chapter of surrender now ;u;
> 
> comments and kudos will be appreciated ;u; lmk what else you want to see in this universe hehe! thank you and hope you have a great day!
> 
> yell with me on twitter!! @symmetrophobic


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